


Remember Me

by Sohotthateveryonedied



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Heroes in Crisis (DCU Comics), Nightwing (Comics), The Flash (Comics), Titans (Comics)
Genre: Alcohol, Amnesia, Angst, Bisexual Dick Grayson, Bisexual Wally West, Dick Grayson is Ric Grayson, Fuck Ric Grayson, GIVE WALLY HIS KIDS BACK DC!!!!!!, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Sad Ending, Wally West Needs a Hug, and boyfriends sometimes too, but ric is an asshole :''(, he just wants dick grayson back :'(, i see it as they dated as teenagers and maybe they're on and off but like, in a way where they're always best friends no matter what, it's vague what wally and dick's relationship is in this, kinda hopeful but mostly sad, pre-heroes in crisis, the whole thing is sad really, they love each other okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:53:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27391525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sohotthateveryonedied/pseuds/Sohotthateveryonedied
Summary: If Wally were a better person, he would walk away and leave Dick to his new life—he would let him be happy.But Wally needs this moment of selfishness. He needsclosure.He needs a chance to say goodbye before he leaves for the Sanctuary tomorrow. He can’t put this off any longer.Wally pushes the door open. A dulled bell clinks above the frame, announcing his arrival. Dick—Ricdoesn’t even look up.(Companion fic to "Feels More Like a Memory," this time from Wally's POV!)
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Wally West, Dick Grayson/Wally West
Comments: 9
Kudos: 151





	Remember Me

**Author's Note:**

> (In this fic, Barry and Iris are married and have their kids, Don and Dawn, because that's just how it always is for them in my head and they DESERVE IT, DAMMIT!!) (And yes this fic is named after that song from Coco because I like it.)
> 
> Anyway, this is Wally's POV from that other fic because I'm a glutton for angst. Enjoy!

Wally shouldn’t be doing this. He’s aware of that.   
  
So why is he doing it anyway?  
  
According to Roy, Dick’s family and the rest of the superhero community have taken a step back, given this so-called “Ric” the space he wants. Donna and Garth have seen him anyway, but Roy held back. He said he didn’t want to see living proof that the Dick Grayson they knew and loved is gone for good.  
  
And yet, here Wally is, standing outside of a crappy bar that must be crawling with all _kinds_ of viruses and STDs. Through the front window, Wally can see that the place is a graveyard, even this late in the evening. Nothing but a few staggering alcoholics and a group of men playing pool in the back.  
  
And _him._ He’s sitting on a bar stool, speaking to the bartender. It’s the first time Wally has seen him since the accident. He looks...different. Too different. His head is shaved and he’s lost some muscle since being bedridden. If Wally hadn’t become so familiar with Dick’s face over the years, he might have missed him completely.  
  
Fortunately, Wally knows Dick Grayson like the back of his hand. He knows those eyes; those broad shoulders that look like they almost don’t belong on that thin, acrobatic frame; the way he gestures when he talks like the performer he is, thriving under whatever attention he can get. Every angle, every movement, every grin is catalogued and sewn into the tapestry of him that remains in Wally’s mind. It’s the only tapestry left of him.  
  
Being here, seeing _him..._ it’s irresponsible. Unfair. Even the Bats have stopped visiting, according to Barry. If Wally were a better person, he would walk away now and leave Dick to his new life. He would let him be _happy._  
  
But Wally needs this moment of selfishness. He needs _closure._ He needs a chance to say goodbye before he leaves for the Sanctuary tomorrow. He can’t put this off any longer.  
  
Wally pushes the door open. A dulled bell clinks above the frame, announcing his arrival. Dick— _Ric_ doesn’t even look up.  
  
Wally suppresses the lightning simmering through his veins and takes the bar stool next to him. The bartender arches an eyebrow at Wally. He must stick out like a vampire among bats compared to this place’s usual clientele. That’s Blüdhaven, for you.  
  
“I’ll have a Coke with three maraschino cherries, please,” Wally tells her. “Thanks.” It takes all of the self-control he possesses (which isn’t much, admittedly) to not look at Ric. To keep his eyes forward, to be strong and resist the urge to make even a second of eye contact, like just that connection alone will replenish what Wally has been without for so long.  
  
Ric drinks his beer. “Never met anyone who goes to a bar for a soda.”  
  
God, he even _sounds_ like him. If Wally closed his eyes, he could let himself believe that this is the real Dick Grayson sitting next to him. Shaggy black hair, piercing blue eyes, a smile that could turn a baddie good in a heartbeat from sheer force of will.  
  
If this _were_ Dick, he and Wally would be arguing right now about how it should _actually_ be called pop, not soda. Dick would call Wally a hick, and Wally would insist that his physics degree means that whatever he says, goes.   
  
Wally keeps his voice steady, devoid of the avalanche of emotion packed against the walls. “You can’t exactly get a Coke with three cherries from your neighborhood grocer.”  
  
“You can if you make it at home.”  
  
Wally’s mouth quirks. “Then I’m here for the wonderful atmosphere.”  
  
“If you’re looking for atmosphere, you’re sure as hell not going to find it here,” Ric says. “This place is the pits.”  
  
“Then how come you’re here?”  
  
Ric shrugs, and—god _,_ even his _movements_ are like Dick’s. Every twitch and curve is pure _Dick Grayson,_ through and through. His brain is the only muscle on him that’s changed. “For the moldy buffalo wings and terrible service, of course.”  
  
Wally laughs. It wasn’t even that funny of a joke, but he laughs anyway, for the first time in a long time. _Too_ long. He nearly forgot how good it felt. The bartender brings over his pop, cherries and all.   
  
“I’ve got to be honest,” he says after she walks away, “Blüdhaven is even worse than I remember it. Ever since that bat guy disappeared, it’s like all I hear about Blüd now is how much the crime has escalated.”  
  
“Nightwing,” Ric corrects him. “His name was Nightwing.” Wally could analyze that for days, but he won’t. He can’t.   
  
“Right, Nightwing,” he says, keeping up the “dumb stranger” act. This is risky, he knows. If Ric catches on that Wally isn’t who he claims he is, it’s over. But he can’t help himself. “What do you think happened to him?”  
  
(Wally already _knows_ what happened to him. He got shot in the head. He might as well be dead. Every memory, every inside joke, every connection he shared is gone. It’s all gone.)  
  
“Have we met before?” Ric asks, changing the subject in a way he probably intends to be subtle. He doesn’t have Dick’s talent of flying under the radar.   
  
Wally plasters on a smile. “Just have one of those faces, I guess.”   
  
_You know me,_ he longs to say. _You’re my best friend. You’re my favorite person in the universe and I need you back. I need you to remember me._  
  
“Says every person who’s ever pretended not to know someone,” Ric counters.  
  
Wally laughs it off, but it’s hollow. Even suffering from amnesia, there’s still that unshakeable paranoia. “I’m from Central City, actually. Just here for the weekend. I was trying to track down an old friend.” It’s _technically_ true. Best to stick with the truth. If the bat-paranoia is still there, it’s safe to assume that Dick’s ability to spot a lie from ten miles away is fixed in place too.  
  
“And did you find him?”  
  
Wally tries to keep up the act, the smile cracking at the edges, but it’s getting more and more difficult to hold the memories back. Memories of him and Dick at Titans Tower together, laughing while they play videogames in the living room. Him and Dick having sleepovers at Wayne Manor during their preteen years and sneaking kisses in hallways years later when teenage hormones had taken the reins.   
  
And through it all, Wally could live comfortably with the knowledge that no matter what happened—come rain, sleet, the end of the world and the end of reality—Wally would _always_ have Dick in his corner. No matter what, it would always be Dick and Wally, facing any threat hand in hand.  
  
Wally was so naïve, he let himself believe it would last forever.  
  
“Nope,” Wally says finally. “He skipped town pretty recently and has been missing ever since.”  
  
“Sorry to hear that.”  
  
Wally takes a sip of pop. “How about you? What keeps you in a place like Blüdhaven?”  
  
“Believe it or not, this is the only place I’ve been in so far that’s felt like home. I got shot in the head a while ago and since then, I’ve been a clean slate.” Ric points to the scar on his scalp. Wally winces just looking at it. “It’s hard to figure out ‘home’ again when every place you go is filled with too many people who know and care about you, you know?”  
  
“You and I have very different definitions of home, then.” So would Dick. “The way I see it, home is wherever the people who love you are.”  
  
Wally’s home is the Titans. His home is Barry and Iris. It’s Linda, Irey, and Jai. It’s Dick Grayson.  
  
“You’d be surprised,” Ric says with a snort. “It’s more like leeches, really. Or a landlord begging for rent even after you’ve moved out. It’s fucking exhausting.” He gulps down the rest of his beer and gestures to the bartender for another. He holds out a hand to Wally. “I’m Ric, by the way. With a C.”  
  
“Wally. With a W.”  
  
“That’s a tragedy.”  
  
“And Ric isn’t?”  
  
Ric laughs. Wally aches. He and Dick have had this exact conversation before, way back when it was Robin and Kid Flash. Then came the day when they finally told each other their secret identities, and Wally was just relieved to have a friend who understood what it was like to be cursed with such an outdated name. From then on, it was best friends for life.  
  
“So,” Wally says, “amnesia, huh? And I thought _I_ had problems.”  
  
It’s ironic, isn’t it? Here Dick is, the bright blue center of the universe, and he can’t remember a second of it. He barely even knows himself. And all the while, Wally is a fountain of eternity from the things he witnessed in the speed force, years and years that never happened even though they _did,_ all stored in his mind like a tangled cassette tape.   
  
Dick and Wally. Blank space and eternity, just a bar stool away.  
  
“You have no idea,” Ric says. “Weirdly enough, the amnesia part isn’t even the worst of it. I can deal with having no memories. The real problem is everyone _else’s_ memories trying to force their way into mine. Everybody remembers me as somebody else, but they can’t understand that the man they knew is long gone. It’s pathetic.”  
  
If Dick were here, he would be throwing hands with this imposter. He would be _outraged_ that someone would _ever_ speak about his family like that. Bruce, Barbara, Jason, Tim, Damian...they love him, every one of them. The _real_ Dick Grayson would be able to see that.  
  
“Can you blame them?” Wally says, trying to hold back his own anger on Dick’s behalf. “If someone I loved forgot who he was, I’d want to bring him back too.”  
  
“Then you’ve never had to deal with lost memories before.” Wrong, but go off. “Everyone talks about how amnesia can be a blessing in disguise, giving you a reset on life. But it’s more like being dropped in the middle of a sports game where you don’t know the rules or who your teammates are, and everyone’s waiting for you to just get with the program and kick the ball somewhere.”  
  
Wally bites a cherry off its stem, rolling his eyes. “What I wouldn’t give for that.” Ric looks at him in a silent question. “I have two kids,” he admits. “Twins, Jai and Irey. They’re...they were incredible. They were the lights of my life.” He smiles just thinking about them, about their perfect faces. About Father’s Days and Christmases and first days of school ushered in with new backpacks and smiley-face pancakes.  
  
He would do anything to go back. “Then there was...something happened. I lost them both, and now all I have left of them are memories. But I swear to god, sometimes it feels like having the memories hurts a million times worse than losing them in the first place.”  
  
Just _talking_ about them hurts, now. He misses his babies so much, there isn’t a day that goes by in which Wally doesn’t feel like he’s going to rot from the inside out. Any day now the grief will become too much to bear and he’ll collapse like a dying star. His children already have. Wally was naive—he thought he would be _lucky,_ like every other parent on those cheesy Planned Parenthood pamphlets. He thought he deserved as much.  
  
He should have been prepared.  
  
By every definition, Wally’s children were stars. Both of them. Irey and Jai were perfect, spectacular sprinkles of light on Wally’s life. He would have died for them. He would have trudged through the deepest, darkest pits of the underworld. He would have done _anything_ for his babies.  
  
But all stars die. They go when you’re unprepared, when you can’t even bring yourself to wonder what it would be like for that light to be snuffed out. No parent should ever have to lose a child; it’s a pain greater than any in existence. It’s incomparable.   
  
And Wally lost _both_ of his, because...what? Because the universe wanted to get back at him for a grievance he was too happy and deluded to consider at the time? Because the almighty universe, for all its power, is truly just the bingo cage everyone says it is, plucking out souls at random with no consideration of who they are or who needs them?   
  
Worst of all is that, in all of this pain, all of this unbearable, choking _agony,_ Wally is alone. He has no one.   
  
Linda doesn’t know who he is. She wouldn’t even recognize her own children if he brought them to her. Barry and Iris, they try. They hug Wally and try to share in his suffering, but in truth, they don’t let themselves get close enough. How could they? No parent wants to think about what happens when you lose a child. It’s unimaginable. Wally can’t blame them for shielding themselves.  
  
As for the Titans, Roy has his own problems to worry about. So do Donna and Garth. Wally knows he _could_ go to them if he really needed to, but what can they do? Donna has lost her child as well. So did Garth. How can Wally expect to go to them and expect comfort when they have been feeling the same pain he is feeling, and for even longer?   
  
(Are the Titans cursed? Is this why these atrocities keep happening to them?)  
  
Dick is the only one left. No matter how many friends and loved ones Wally has, there is no doubt that Dick is _his person._ Dick is his, and he is Dick’s. Right now, when Wally is so low it’s a wonder he doesn’t just give up and die, he needs Dick to find the last shred of light in the world. That’s what Dick Grayson does: he makes things better, no matter how hopeless they may seem.  
  
And Wally can’t even have that. Dick Grayson is gone, and that might just be the last clipped thread that breaks Wally for good, his stitches popping at every seam. No one in the universe has any memories of Wally's existence aside from a small handful. Dick used to be part of that handful; now he's just one more person who doesn't remember Wally West.  
  
Wally swallows the lump in his throat and drinks until his throat clears. “So trust me, I _get_ wanting to forget. But if you want my advice, I say hold on to your family for as long as you can, even if you don’t want to. You never know how much time you’ll have with them.”  
  
Ric doesn’t meet Wally’s eyes. “I’m...I’m sorry, man.”  
  
Wally clears his throat and forces a weak attempt at a smile. “It’s fine.” Even though it isn’t. Nothing is fine. “But you see why I don’t drink.”   
  
_Because if I did start drinking, I would never stop._  
  
Ric sips his fresh glass of beer, his eyes fixed on the counter. “I can’t even imagine losing someone like that. I know my parents are dead, but my memories are so messed up that I don’t remember much of it. And even though I can’t remember anything after that day, it still feels like it happened twenty years ago. I’ve never had to grieve anyone but myself.”  
  
As much as Wally hates this “Ric” person for taking Dick away from him, maybe that’s the one blessing in this awful situation. This is a Dick Grayson with no baggage, no ghosts filling his shadow. He’s free—more free than any superhero has ever been, probably.   
  
Wally wishes he could feel happy for him.  
  
“It helps to have people around you, for one thing. That friend I mentioned, the one who skipped town? We used to have a system that whenever one of us was having a bad day, we’d go down to that gay bar a few blocks from here and stay there until we forgot what we were upset about.”   
  
Those were some of Wally’s favorite nights. He and Dick would make a pact to shed all responsibility, all stress, and let themselves enjoy _one_ night out. One night of drinking, dancing, forgetting about the world and its problems. It was the best therapy they had.  
  
He can’t resist asking, “You ever been there?”

Ric makes a face—the same one Wally used to get from schoolmates who thought bisexuality was nothing but a one-way ticket to Hell. “I’m straight, actually. That kind of stuff...it’s not really my thing.”

Wally blinks. He looks Ric up and down. “You’re kidding.” No straight man could possibly put together  _ that  _ outfit: mesh shirt, cropped hoodie, ripped denim shorts. Did Dick seriously get amnesia and wake up a Republican?

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. That’s just...surprising.”

“Okay?” He looks offended now. Shit.  
  
“No, that’s not—I mean...I don’t know what I mean.” Wally shakes his head. “It’s easy to forget that not everyone lives the same life you do, I guess.” Or the life _ they _ lived.

Ric clinks his glass with Wally’s. “Cheers to that.” They drink. Ric wipes his mouth on his sleeve despite the stack of napkins  _ right there  _ on the counter. “How long are you staying in Blüd, Walls?”    
  
_ Walls.  _ Wally can’t help the tug in his heart at the nickname, even if it comes from the mouth of a stranger. “This is my last night, actually. I’m going to this mental health facility in Nebraska for a while to recharge. I just wanted to see my friend one last time before I left.”

“I’m sorry you couldn’t find him.”

“Yeah. Me too.” More than he could ever know. Wally downs the rest of his drink and stands, tossing a few bills on the counter. He’s been selfish long enough. “I should probably head out. It was nice talking to you, Ric.”

Ric shakes his hand again. “You, too. Track me down if you ever find yourself in Blüd again. It’ll be nice seeing a familiar face for once.”

“You got it.” Wally squashes thoughts of arriving back in this godforsaken city and seeing that familiar black and blue suit swinging above the buildings, free as a Flying Grayson could be.  _ Should  _ be.   
  
Wally starts to leave but stops himself at the door, one hand mid-twist on the knob. He looks back at Ric—at the man bearing the name of his best friend and most important person, wearing his face. “Don’t forget me again, okay?”    
  
He’s gone before Ric can answer, the door closing behind him.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Anyway, who else is fucking terrified about the election and is trying to take their mind off it with fanfiction???? :):):)
> 
> [Feel free to mosey on down to my Tumblr!](http://sohotthateveryonedied.tumblr.com/)


End file.
